by Renee Ahdieh
“I think you need therapy,” I joked.
“I’ll get in line behind you,” he jeered back. “By the way, you’re absolutely amazing.”
“Isn’t she? I nearly died at the look on Dad’s face! ‘Can you please pass the salad dressing?’ ” Anne tittered to herself as she studied her younger brother who held me in a loose embrace with an expression of total satisfaction on her face. “Really, you did quite well with this one, Tommy. Dad thought you were bringing home an American idiot with big knockers and a small IQ. This is just perfect!”
“Instead, he got a Puerto Rican smartass with no knockers and something to prove.” I laughed with Anne.
“What’s Mum doing?” Anne asked Tom.
“Yelling at Dad.”
“Perfect. So, now it’s my turn to ask questions, but they’re really easy ones. I’m just dying to know some of the basic things about you, Cris. Bare with me,” Anne said beseechingly.
“Go for it!” I replied with a grin.
“Favorite color?” she inquired.
“Red.”
“Favorite day of the week?”
“Friday.”
“Favorite book?”
“I’ve got two. The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy and Emerson’s Self-Reliance.”
“Nice! Favorite place to go on holiday?”
“The beach.”
“Favorite kind of music?”
“Unanswerable. Depends on the week.”
“Favorite kind of food?”
“Probably Indian . . . or Italian.”
“Favorite movie?”
I smiled wickedly before responding with “Anything starring Thomas Abramson.” I batted my eyelashes at Tom with a look of groupie adoration that prompted Anne to guffaw loudly and Tom to shove me with a groan. After she finished laughing, Anne announced she would straighten up the dining room and discreetly left us alone in the kitchen.
“I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you standing up for me,” he murmured.
“It’s what I’m supposed to do . . . plus, I think it sucks your Dad can’t see the forest for the trees.”
“He would most likely say the same thing about me,” he muttered in response.
“You really need to talk to him. I think you two haven’t had a chance to have a serious discussion in forever. It looks like all you do is pick fights with one another.”
“You’re probably right,” he agreed. “I just don’t know where to begin.”
“Not knowing where to begin is not an excuse. Remember what you said to me about my father? How it shamed you? Don’t forget about that, and try to be more patient with him. I think he cares a lot more than he lets on.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he placed a tender kiss on my forehead.
“I love you, Bad-Tempered Tommy,” I teased affectionately.
“And I love you, Ass-Kicking Cris.”
Chapter Sixteen
My eyes opened of their own volition at six o’clock in the morning. No matter how much I willed myself to fall back to sleep, my body refused to listen. Jetlag was the bane of my existence.
After I tossed and turned for fifteen minutes, I rolled out of bed, tentatively stuck my head into the hall, and padded to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I changed into jeans and a bright blue T-shirt and treaded downstairs as quietly as possible to find my purse and iPod.
“Good morning, Cris.”
“Holy crap!” I cried, taken off guard by the presence of Tom’s father standing a few feet behind me with a mug of steaming liquid in his right hand.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you usually wake up this early on a Saturday?” he asked. Man, this guy was addicted to interrogative dialogue.
“No, sir. I usually sleep in, but I think my jetlag had other ideas. I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just coming downstairs to get my purse.”
“You’re not bothering me at all. Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee or tea?” he queried.
I thought to myself for a quick moment. As much as I wanted to avoid spending time with someone I’d already deemed unpleasant, I didn’t feel as though I had a right to insist that Tom spend time with his father when I couldn’t bring myself to do the same.
“I’d love a cup of coffee,” I replied with a cheerful grin.
I followed him into the kitchen. I dropped two cubes of sugar into the mug of coffee he handed me and sat in the chair across from him in the small breakfast nook. A chessboard was set up between us, and the pieces were scattered around the board in mid-game.
When he noticed where I gazed, he smiled. “I was playing with Anne last night before you arrived. Chess is a hobby of mine. Do you play?”
“A bit. My father loved chess too, and he always pushed me to play with him. He used to say that you can tell a lot about people from how they play chess.”
“He sounds like a wise man. You lost him last year to cancer, correct?” For the first time, I heard a hint of empathy in his tone.
I nodded and returned his introspective stare without hesitation.
“Would you rather not talk about it?” he asked gently.
“I don’t mind. I love talking about my father.”
“I’m surprised that you don’t seem angered by the unfairness of it all,” he continued.
“Death isn’t fair . . . I think that’s the way it usually works. Honestly, I’m kind of thankful it happened so suddenly, if it had to be because of cancer. He didn’t suffer as much as he could have, and I’m grateful for that.” As I spoke, I absentmindedly made the next move on the chessboard with the white knight before me.
He smiled crookedly, and, for a moment, I saw Tom in his expression. “That’s a very mature response.”
“To me, it’s more about self-actualization. At the end of the day, I know I did everything I could think of at the time to help, and that was more important to me than dwelling on how unfair it all was. I miss him all the time, and sometimes it makes me angry that I can’t hear his laughter or ask him for advice anymore, but I’ve never been mad about it being unfair.” I watched as he removed one of my white pawns from the board and shifted one of his black pawns into its place.
“I hope you’re not offended by what I’m about to say, but I’m very surprised by you,” Tom’s father remarked.
“May I ask why?” I made another move on the chessboard.
“I did not expect you to be so . . . composed and intelligent.”
“Now it’s my turn to hope you won’t be offended. Your low expectations are kind of a disservice to your son. Did you really think he would like a silly, stupid girl?” It was probably too soon for me to be this candid with Tom’s father, but he honestly brought it on himself.
He actually chuckled before replying. “I thought he would like someone that fit his job more appropriately.” His bishop took position closer to my king.
“So you think his job is silly and stupid?”
“In a word: yes. He could have been so much more,” he stated bluntly.
“But I don’t think that detracts from what he is now. He’s a success, and I’m always impressed by how well he handles it, even though he’s not comfortable with his success, yet. I don’t know him as well as you do, but I’ve never felt for a second that his job takes away from the great person he is.”
“You love my son. Sometimes love makes it hard to see the truth.”
“And sometimes it makes us project our wishes onto those we love and ignore their version of success in favor of ours.” I moved another chess piece.
He chuckled again. “You certainly are feisty. Check,” he murmured as he threatened my king with his queen.
“I’m sorry if I was too forward. I just think you’d be pleasantly surprised by how down-to-earth and humble Tom is, even if you think his profession is vapid.” I rescued my king and took a careful glance at my strategically arranged pieces.
“It would be nice to know that side of Thomas, but I h
aven’t seen it in him for a while now.”
“I apologize for being feisty again, but I think that it would help a lot if you both sat down and spoke with each other candidly. I know it’s really presumptuous of me to say this to you, but I’m sure Tom wants to talk to you. In fact, he mentioned it last night.” Inspired, I decided to go a step further. “I think he would love to have lunch with you today, just the two of you.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really?”
I nodded emphatically. Of course, I hadn’t consulted Tom yet, but he always told me I needed to live outside of my head and be more spontaneous. I was certain he wouldn’t mind too much, and we didn’t have any plans for the afternoon. We were supposed to spend time with some of his childhood friends in the evening.
“Check,” he said again as he positioned himself for another attempt at my king. “I would like that very much.”
I beamed at Tom’s father. “I’m really glad.” I prepared to sacrifice my white knight to save my king and finished setting up the stage.
“Thank you. My son is very lucky to have you in his life.” He removed my knight from the board as he grinned kindly at me.
“I’m very lucky to have him in mine . . . Checkmate.”
His jaw dropped in shock as he took a closer look at the board in front of him. I remained silent as he studied the pieces.
“Quite feisty,” he muttered.
With a wry smile of defeat, he knocked his king over.
Two hours later, I helped Tom’s mother prepare breakfast in the kitchen. Tom was still fast asleep and blissfully unaware of the fact I had been unleashed on his parents without a chaperone. Anne lived with a roommate in a flat about half an hour away, so her bubbly presence could not serve as a buffer.
“Are you sure you don’t want more sleep, dear? Thomas stays out quite late when he spends time with his friends, and I don’t want you to fall apart later on,” she said with concern as I turned over the sausage in the frying pan.
“I’ll be fine! I’m on my second cup of coffee so far, and I think I’ll manage to keep it together. Maybe I’ll try to grab a nap later this afternoon.”
She studied my face carefully before replying. “Just don’t let him drag you all over the city until you’re half-dead. Sometimes he gets caught up in a moment, and someone has to bring him back down to earth.”
“I really don’t mind. I’ve spent most of my life grounded, so it’s probably not a bad thing for me to learn how to fly.”
She laughed in response. “Tom does fly, to be sure! That boy has always been a dreamer! I’m so glad he brought you to visit us. You’re not what my husband was expecting, and I mean that in the kindest way possible. In fact, I was a bit surprised myself . . . not about the fact that you’re wonderful; I never had any doubts about that. Tommy is far too particular to settle for anything less than wonderful. I was a bit surprised by how much he cares about you.”
A flush crept up my neck, so I thought it was best to remain silent.
“I’ve never seen him look at any girl the way he looks at you, and I’m so happy for you both.” She reached over to take my hand in hers as a lump formed in my throat.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Of course. I hope you don’t mind if I request a small favor: please don’t break his heart; I’m becoming quite certain that he won’t be able to get over it,” she murmured tenderly.
I stared back into her earnest eyes, nodded, and cleared my throat to stifle the rising tide of emotion building in me. “Breakfast is almost ready. I’ll make sure he’s awake,” I stammered.
I fled the kitchen before I cried on her shoulder and spilled my guts as if she were Oprah Winfrey and had just given me the keys to my first house. What a contrast Tom’s mother was to his father! For every cold and calculating maneuver he made, she had one filled with warmth and openness to combat it.
I knocked softly on the door of Tom’s bedroom. No response.
I pounded a bit more forcefully and heard a stilted groan that reminded me of a grizzly bear being prodded out of hibernation. Trying the handle, I found it unlocked, so I pushed my way into his darkened bedroom. Just in case his parents held more conservative views on propriety, I left the door wide open.
“Tommy?”
Another groan.
“Thomas? Breakfast is ready. Wake up.” I walked carefully over to his bed and leaned over his face.
“Get up . . . I made your father cry,” I murmured in his ear.
His eyes shot open in surprise. “What?”
“I’m kidding. Get out of bed, lazy ass. I’ve been up for hours!”
“I’ve been up for hours!” he mimicked in a nasal voice. “God, you’re annoying.”
I sat on the edge of his bed and poked his ribs with my index finger. “Since I’m already annoying, I thought I might as well take it a step further.”
Without warning, he sat up quickly and wrapped his long arms around my shoulders to restrict my movement. His hands grasped each of my wrists to prevent me from wiggling my way out.
“Game over.” He grinned with half-lidded eyes.
“Fool, this game is far from over,” I teased.
He laughed quietly and blinked the sleep away from his eyes. “Your face is a wonderful thing to wake up to, but your fingers between my ribcage are another story. Have you really been awake for hours?” He released me and ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to banish the bedhead.
“Yep. I couldn’t sleep past six.”
“What have you been doing since then?” He yawned absentmindedly. His white T-shirt was wrinkled and askew on his chest, and that in combination with the unruly hair and bedroom eyes sent a flurry of tantalizingly inappropriate images through my head. Hah hah . . . if he only knew how dangerously sexy he was.
“I had coffee with your father, and we played chess.”
He chuckled as he threw his legs over the side of his bed, stood, and stretched.
“How did that go?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Pretty well. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that your father thinks about things even more obsessively than I do.”
“No kidding. It drives me insane.” He grabbed some track pants from the floor and pulled them on in one fluid motion.
“By the way, you’re having lunch with him today,” I stated in a casual tone.
He froze mid-step. “What?” His voice was dangerously low.
“I told your father you would have lunch with him today.”
He pursed his lips and cut his eyes at me. “I’m guessing that wasn’t his idea.”
“No, it was mine.”
He took a deep breath to steady himself for a moment. “Cristina, why the hell would you do that?”
I was dismayed by the amount of anger I saw in his features, so I just sat there and stared at him in bewildered silence.
He took three long strides to his door and slammed it shut.
“Why?” he demanded furiously as he spun around to face me.
“I thought you should talk to him, so . . .”
“So, you just planned a sweet little father-son luncheon without even consulting me?”
“You want me to consult you?” I sputtered. “That’s a joke! You never consult me about anything! Plus, we talked about this last night!”
“Talking about it and making me do something I’m not ready to do are two different things! I’m not going!” he said in a wrathful whisper.
I stood up from the bed and crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not!”
“You’re acting like a spoiled brat! It’s not going to fix itself, Thomas! Whether you talk to him now or next year, it will never get any easier. It will, however, get worse and worse if you keep acting like a brat about it, sitting there snorting at the dinner table and muttering under your breath. Grow up!” I spat.
“You think it’s just that easy? You have absolutely no idea what you�
��re talking about! Your father worshipped you and thought everything you did was worth its weight in gold. My father thinks everything about me is a fucking joke! You want me to sit across from him and pretend that I give a damn?”
“Yes, because you do give a damn! He needs to know that you give a damn! Maybe if he thought you cared, he would stop for a moment and look at things from your perspective!” I tried not to yell for fear that everyone in the house would hear every word we said.
“It’s not that easy. Christ! It’s a bit naïve of you to think you can fix this. This problem was here long before you were, and me forcing you to go to a party with people who don’t matter is not the same thing as you forcing me to have lunch with my father who hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you! Don’t say that!” I gasped.
“Just because you said so, it suddenly makes it true?” he shot back.
“No, but . . . you saying he hates you doesn’t make it true either!”
“I’m not going,” he stated flatly.
“Then don’t go!” I said with exasperation. “But you have a choice: either deal with your father at lunch today, or deal with me for the rest of this trip. I don’t have control over you or your father, but I promise to be the biggest pain in the ass you’ve ever seen!”
I marched over to the door and yanked it open with my heart rapidly beating in my chest.
Breakfast was interesting, to say the least. Tom sat in stony silence for most of the meal and attributed his lack of communication to the fact that he was still tired from the flight. Desperate to make up for his childishness, I overcompensated by talking entirely too much and laughing at things that weren’t that funny. What I wouldn’t give to have even a slight amount of skill when it involved acting. The irony. I was sure his parents knew something was wrong, but they didn’t mention it. Midway through the meal, I started to feel guilty. I had raked Tom over the coals for taking me to the Vogue party without consulting me, and now I had definitely taken it upon myself to be a hero and ”save” Tom’s relationship with his father by planning their lunch of my own volition. He was right, I grudgingly admitted to myself. I had no business becoming an intermediary when it came to their issues. All I should have done was make suggestions and offer encouragement. I had gone too far. Fuck.